Cherish
by tinfoilman4
Summary: Who knew that one girl could bring such a powerful man down so far? -Ikarishipping.
1. Chapter 1

**Love is a binding force, by which another is joined to me and cherished by myself.**

_~ Thomas Aquinas_

"And here…" I grunted with an obviously annoyed voice, "… here is the master bedroom."

I grinded my teeth together. This was not how I planned my Saturday evening. I had no intentions of staying at home and giving a tour of my new place; I wanted to be out at the club, where I belonged. _Well… _I thought to myself, _it _could _be worse. I mean, of all the people to give a tour of your new apartment to, the person currently marvelling at the décor of your bedroom had to be one of the people you tolerated most. In fact, you _more_ than tolerated being with _her_…_

I physically shook my head when that thought crossed my mind. _No,_ I collected myself internally; _don't think about her like that. There is no way you could ever handle getting closer with this girl. She was way too strong-willed, too determined, too fiery, too beauti-_

_ Snap out of it! _I screamed at myself inside. Still, I couldn't prevent my eyes from beginning to examine the girl in front of me, who seemed to be examining my nightstand with surprising interest. High-heeled pink shoes wrapped around her slender, tanned ankles, my eyes moving up her body from the ground the up. After what seemed like an eternity of long, fit, golden legs, they fixed themselves upon the bottom of a small summer dress that so lovingly embraced her voluptuous figure. My eyes reluctantly made their way up her slender back until they reached the top of the dress, a golden necklace hanging idly on the back of her neck. Of course, this necklace was mostly covered by straight blue hair that reached a couple of inches below her shoulders. With her back towards me, I could not actually see the girl's face, but I could picture it perfectly in my mind: bl-

The girl quickly turned around to face me, apparently having lost interest in my nightstand. _I hope she didn't realize I was totally checking her out,_ I thought to myself as I did a quick drool check. Hitting only dry skin around my mouth, I faked a cough to cover up my embarrassing check. I wanted to get her out of my room, but as I prepared my words carefully, I instantly got lost in her beauty again. She was just so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, in too many ways to describe; it was just… just…

…The way her sparkling blue eyes, which were almost the same colour as her odd coloured hair, seemed to dance with passion and excitement at all times; the way they seemed to catch a light from some unseen source, even in the darkest of rooms; and the way they currently reflected the sunset outside my apartment. My eyes were only dull specks of coal compared to the fierce blue diamonds that hung in the vast whites of her eyes…

…The way her cute nose jutted out just _perfectly_ from between those eyes, sloping down at just the right angle on her face (of course, it was not perpendicular to her face). If you caught her at such a close range in the sunlight, you would notice faint freckles that portrayed a youth and innocence that I found almost irresistibly cute…

…The way her thin, flawless rose lips quickly separated to give way for a flash of pure white happiness in the form of a smile that could melt the hearts of even the coldest of men. Even men such as myself…

My eyes continued their downwards trend and soon I found myself looking at… well, her chest. Dangling from her neck was a gold necklace, and it had a pendant with a sparkling turquoise gem inside of it, but I would be lying if I said I was focusing on the pendant… Arceus had sure been generous in creating her noticeably robust bosom. Though she had changed a lot as a person since I first met her outside Professor Rowan's lab, the area where she had _physically_ changed the most was now inches away from my own chest, separated only by a couple thin layers of clothes and a molecule of air or two. How I just wanted to reach out an-

"My, my," she said with a sultry voice that caught me momentarily off guard. I snapped my head upwards as she snapped her fingers to get my attention before she continued, "I should have realized it was only a matter of time before your hormones won the battle against your logic and emotionless reasoning."

I instantly began to blush deeply, crimson colouring erupting all over my face like I had had a can of paint splashed against my face.

_Dammit! _I swore to myself as I shook my head slightly, hoping that my blush could be removed like an Etch-a-Sketch picture. _Start thinking with the head you're shaking right now! Tell your other head that if it could just settle down for about two minutes…_

"Well!" I said, pretending to taken aback by her insinuation; I really needed to stop relying on my acting skills. "Is it so rude to look at such a… uh…" _Dammit, I was getting flustered! _"… a nice dress you are wearing?" _That wasn't actually half bad,_ I congratulated myself for my quick thinking, _I can work with this._ "I simply must know what make it is." _Good call, play the gay card: that usually shuts her down._

"If you must know, I crafted this lovely summer outfit myself," she said with only a hint of pride and self-satisfaction; I had forgotten that besides being an accomplished co-ordinator, that she was also an aspiring pokémon stylist. She spun around in place, which caused her hair and the floral-patterned dress to sway out behind her. "But I can't help but ask you why you would _want_ to know…"

"Why I would want to know," I repeated her, making it seem like the answer was only the most obvious thing in the world. "Pfft. Isn't it obvious?" I added a smirk for added effect, but this only caused her to look even more confused; I rolled my eyes before continuing, "If I knew the make, I could purchase four or five more of the dresses and then I could have my own lovely cheerleading team for my battles. I haven't seen you waving those pom-poms in years, so maybe you could follow me around an-"

She punched me in the arm playfully (at least, I interpreted it as playfully). "I would never wear the same outfit as someone else!" She then gazed into my eyes before slowly turning away. _What did that look mean?_ I thought to myself, confused. She looked out the window, which covered the entire west wall of my bedroom, for a minute or two in silence, gazing out at the lush, varied scenery below and, of course, the sunset which was currently a striking shade of pink, before turning to face me once again.

"So, champ," she said with a smile on her face, "What do you have planned for the night?" She paused, "Y'know, if you've got nothing to do tonight, _I_ could keep you company tonight. You've got quite the place here… maybe we could rent a movie or I could cook you something nice. I'm positive I'm a better cook than you are…" she trailed off, trying to get me going with her last statement.

_I want nothing more than for you to prove that to me, _I thought sadly. "While that sounds quite…" _Diplomatic, be diplomatic. _"… pleasant, I regret to inform you…" I continued with the tone one would expect from a snooty restaurant host, "… that I already have plans for the evening."

"Oh," she replied with what I could have sworn was a look of hurt on her face. But as quickly as it appeared on her face, it disappeared. "What's the big plan, then?" she said as her usual smile reappeared on her face.

"I'm going down to the club," I stated bluntly, and I could see her expression drop when she heard the final word of the sentence. "You are welcome to tag along, if you'd like…" I added. _Please say no, please say no, please say no…_

"That's alright," she said coldly, and she began to walk out of my room. She picked up her purse on the counter where she had left it earlier, slinging it over her shoulder. "I wouldn't want to be one of your slutty fan-girls." She let the insult hang in the air momentarily. "Have fun at the fucking club, Mr. Champion."

I chased after her in vain, "No, don't be like that…" She slammed the door right in my face and I stumbled awkwardly into it, failing to slow myself down in time. I then slumped down to the ground below me, with my back on the door, resting my head in my hands.

_Why the fuck does she always say no?_ was my first thought.

_Why the fuck do I always turn her away? _was my more logical second thought. _Why didn't you spend the night with her? Fucking Mew, she's drop-dead, drool-worthy gorgeous, and she asks to have a romantic evening with you, and you say no? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you too good for her? What the fuck is wrong with her, then?_

But I knew the answer to all these questions. I knew why I always said no, why I always shut her down, what was wrong with her…

She was commitment. If I ever said yes to her, I'd fall head-over-heels in love with her, and I would be totally committed to her. I'd lose everything in life just to be with her, and I wasn't prepared for that. I still wanted to battle; fuck, I am the Sinnoh Champion! I don't want to retire now to be some lovesick puppy chasing her around as she merrily skips around the world to go to contests.

Besides missing out on battling, I'm only 21; in my mind, that's still _way_ too young to be tied down to one person. That's why I wanted to go out to the club tonight: I wanted to get _mine_, but I didn't want to get committed to it. That's why one-night-stands were perfect for me. There are no personal feelings, no relationships are built, and there is no shortage of beautiful women willing to throw themselves at me for one night of pleasure: hey, being a regional champion has its perks.

This answer didn't comfort me though. _In a couple of years, I will say yes, _I assured myself, but saying that didn't really help. With a sigh, I got up to my knees, and dusted myself off before heading off to the bathroom. I investigated myself in the mirror, getting myself prepared to head out to a fast-food place and then down to the club.

_Am I really this pale?_ I thought to myself as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Maybe it was the dark suit I was wearing that caused a stark contrast between it and my skin. Years of travelling had finally paid off, and a noticeable layer of muscle was present on my body; I now filled my outfit, rather than letting it hang over my frame like a curtain. I combed a few strands of shoulder-length purple hair out of my face as I investigated my face more thoroughly. My face had triumphed over the acne that plagued me in my mid-teens and the other blessings of puberty a while back and the skin was relatively clear on my face now. I checked on my chin, grooming my facial hair into place: where I used to have nothing, I now had a moustache and soul patch. I never shaved when I was still on my journey (after I started growing facial hair) to try and make myself seem older, but once I became the champion, I trimmed it and kept it more clean. Personally, I thought it looked stupid, but one day I said I was going to shave it all off and _that girl_ told me that she thought it made me seem old and wise; ever since, I have not been able to convince myself to get rid of it.

As I left the bathroom and grabbed the keys to my car, I glanced over at the small table I had by the window. Sitting in two chairs opposite of each other were me and her, enjoying a romantic dinner at sunset. I rubbed my eyes and the image was gone. I sighed again, opening the door and locking it behind me.

_I will say yes._

"What the fuck do you think you're watchin', boy?" I heard a voice boom behind me. Frozen with shock, I slowly turned my head away from the television to face the source of the question; I was greeted by the familiar shirtless, unfit figure of my father. He cracked open a Muk Light (a quick glance at the clock revealed it was exactly 2:27 in the afternoon, which is the exact time he'd begin his drinking for the day; his timing was impeccable) and slurped it noisily before he collapsed on the couch. Chugging back another sip of his beer, he exhaled loudly before he continued his spur-of-the-moment sermon on my tastes in television programs. "A pokémon battle? Holy fuck, you don't still have them queer fantasies about raising pokémon, do you? Mew, how old is you now?"

I cleared my throat, trying not to sound intimidated by his harsh tone and even stronger vocabulary. "T-ten," I sputtered. I just turned ten last month; he acknowledged it by buying me a box of brand-name cereal, which was much better than when he forgot my eighth and ninth birthdays altogether. It was supposed to me a more momentous occasion in my life than it turned out to be; back when I truly believed that becoming a pokémon trainer is what I would do in life, my tenth birthday would be the day I received my first pokémon and set out on my very own pokémon journey. Of course, when I brought it up with my dad, he couldn't stop laughing at me, so I figured he wasn't going to let me go. I still watched the competitions on television, though; it was as if it was a part of me that no matter how impossible it was to achieve, I simply couldn't let it go.

"You can't even fucking talk, and you think you gon' be a trainer? Cal," he pointed at me with his free hand as he spoke, as if he was channelling his sage advice through his finger and into my mind, "There's two types of people in this world: fuck-ups and non-fuck-ups. Non-fuck-ups are those kids you're droolin' over on the boob tube," he said as his pointing finger, which had been trained on my forehead, drifted over towards the television, "They're special, and not the retarded, stutterin' kind likes you. You're a fuck-up; you come from a long-line of fuck-ups, including me and your whore of a mother."

I flinched uncontrollably at the mention of my mother. I had never met her (not surprisingly, she hadn't stuck around to live with my drunkard of a father), and the only details I had gathered about her I had heard from my dad. He painted her as a prostitute and a total bitch to be around, and that she pretty much abandoned me on his doorstep after she had given birth to me. Naturally, I believed the exact opposite to be true (since I took everything my father said with a large helping of salt), so when he insulted her (which was a regular occurrence), it always bothered me.

"Shit," my dad startled me once again, "I need a fucking smoke." He began to pad the pockets of his blue jeans but he obviously couldn't find any. "Arceus damnit, I'm outta fuckin' smokes already? You better not be hiding any on me, son. Shit, I really wanna smoke, but I just sat down… son, if I give you a $20, will you buy me some smokes?"

I nodded my head; anything to get away from him. I stood up and trudged over to him, and he handed me a bill. "And fetch me the damn clicker before you go. PSN is broadcasting a great wrestling bout from Sinnoh: The Torrential Masked Master, Crasher Wake, is fighting some slob from Veilstone. Shit, what was his name? Mew, I forgot already, but I know for sure that Wake's gonna beat that snot outt'em. I don't want to be watching your pussy playground battles when the two-hour pre-fight show is on."

I tried my best to ignore him as I dropped the remote in his lap and headed out the door. I emerged from the humid, cramped confines of my kitschy, shag carpet-lined mobile home into the "lovely" rolling green acres of Lake Verity Trailer Park. The sun caused me to squint as I started to walk down the stairs to the ground below, but I hesitated as I thought of my situation. I was ten years old, living off of welfare cheques that my father mostly spent on alcohol, with a cot for a bed in a trailer park. My father was a drunken bastard who treated me like garbage and made it a routine to go buy him cigarettes. Frankly, I was a kid in poverty that was at the ideal age for my pokémon journey; why was I putting up with this shit? In that moment, with the sun beating down on me as I stood frozen on the second step of the exit, I made up my mind: I was going on my very own journey, regardless of whether my dad approved of it or not. Carefully and quietly, I slid back into the trailer and into my room, but my dad heard me sifting through my belongings as I put key items into a backpack, including a couple changes of clothes and all the money I had.

"What the hell are you doing back in here?" he roared over the din of the television from his position on the couch. "You're s'post to be gettin' me some smokes!"

"I-I know," I stammered, trying to think of a good excuse as to what I was doing back inside, "I'm just, uh, grabbing my hat." I placed the nearest hat on my head and scrambled back outside before he could grill me any further.

I'd like to say that my subsequent journey proved to be a giant success, that I proved to my father that I wasn't a total fuck-up, and that I didn't end up living a shitty life like his.

But then I'd be lying.

**Author's Note:** I originally intended this to be a song-fic and a long one-shot, but it eventually got too long and then I added the secondary plotline and realized it needed to be broken up into chapters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Introduction:** This chapter is brought to you by Condimints, the successful troll of the Pokemon section. While reporting him is good, flaming him is not; it saddens me to say that everyone cursing at him probably means he got the attention he desired.

* * *

"Another rum and coke, my good sir!" I said to the bartender, and turned around to face the dance floor in front of me. I had spent a lot of the night at the bar; once the initial reaction of seeing the champion had died down amongst the patrons, I had looked for someone to dance with, but it had been pretty slim pickings for the majority of the night. I had ordered enough drinks that I was starting to get a decent buzz going. The waiter slid me my beverage of choice, but I didn't notice it at first. I was too preoccupied staring at a girl stumbling awkwardly from the girl's bathroom. _Why does she look so familiar?_ I said as the gears in my head slowly began grinding, slowed by the alcohol present in my system.

"Monsieur," the bartender said as he tapped me on the shoulder, and I spun around in fright, only relaxing when I saw why he wanted me. Thanking him, I slipped him some money (with a pretty generous tip that I wouldn't have left had I been totally sober) and started to drink my beverage at a pretty quick pace.

"Woo!" a girly voice screamed right beside me, causing my ears to ring. "A couple more margaritas for me and my girlfriends, please!" _Wait a minute, I know that voice… _"How much do I owe you, cutie?" she said to the bartender.

"For you, my little lady," he replied, "They are on the house." He then left to go prepare the drinks, and I turned my attention from him to the patron.

_Oh. My. Mew._

_ She fucking followed me here._

The alcohol lost its slight control on me almost instantly upon recognizing her. Logic coursed through my body like venom; I must have been cold to the touch as all emotions disappeared. _Back to the tried and true method of not showing any feelings,_ I thought sadly. I didn't want to do this, but otherwise she could capitalize on my weakness.

"Miss Berlitz," I said as calmly as I could manage; with some strain, I managed to get a casual grin to appear on my face as she turned to see who was talking to her. Though they had lost their usual vim, her eyes did sparkle a little when they noticed me. I continued in the same tone from before, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm having fun with my girls!" she said, slurring words together. She was definitely not 100% all there at the moment.

A pause; she seemed to be deep in thought. "You're happy to see me, aren't you?"

I could feel the red flow through my veins, turning my face into an organic stop sign.

"Uh, well…" I sputtered. _Change the topic, you idiot. _"Aren't you a little young to be in a bar? What are you, now…" _C'mon, think: if you are 21, that makes her… _"18? I thought the age limit to get inside was 19?"

She shook her head as a large grin appeared on her face. She reached over and clumsily tried to ruffle my hair. "Silly boy; girls like me _never _get ID'd. All I had to do was one of these…" She shook her breasts; I'd be lying if I said it didn't seem like one of the hottest things I had ever seen. "…and the guy let me right in! I didn't even have to wait in line!" She seemed proud of her accomplishment.

"Your drinks, mademoiselle," said the bartender with a smile. He slid three margaritas across the counter, and she instantly downed one. I looked at her in surprise as she slammed the glass back down on the table; when she noticed the look I was giving her, she gave me a loud giggle.

"What are you staring at?" she stammered excitedly.

"How long have you been drinking?" I questioned.

"About a year or so," she responded before downing a second margarita with the same gusto as the previous time; I frowned, as I had meant how long she had been drinking that night.

"No, I meant on the…" she was in no condition to do any deep thought, so I decided not to pursue the answer any further, "Forget it." I paused; she was already working on her third. "I thought you had gotten those for your 'girls?'" I pointed to the three glasses that were now all empty.

"I did," she replied happily, "For this girl…" she shook her right breast up and down, "And this one!" She did likewise with her left breast. I looked at her dumbfounded, and she seemed pleased with the reaction she got out of me. "So… how's about we hit the dance floor? I'm gonna get my groove on!"

_Oh for Mew's sake. _"No, don't go out th-" I started, but she had already slipped off of her bar stool and was staggering towards the dance floor. I ran to catch up to her, and placed my hands firmly on her shoulders, preventing her from going any further. She whipped around to face me, initially angry but quickly a smile flashed across her face. "You're in no condition to g-"

But she interrupted me before I could finish: "I knew you couldn't resist going on a date with little ol' me! No guy can resist this!" She did a little spin, shaking her booty, before bending over and bringing a hand to her mouth.

"Fucking Mew," I sighed, and grabbed her; she was going to blow. I tossed her up on my shoulder as if she were some form of cargo and started dashing towards the door. _Please don't throw up on my new shirt, please don't throw up on my new shirt… _was all I could think as I sprinted to the exit. We were approaching my escape rapidly. _She might just make it! _I thought excitedly as I pushed two guys aside. _Yes! _I practically screamed as I swung the back door open. Just as I was about to put her down, I heard her mumble something. I brought her body close to mine before I settled her on the ground.

"What was that?" I asked. Her face had become quite green; it looked bad even on her pretty face.

"I said…" she started…

_*bleargh_

She threw up all over the front of my shirt. I tossed her down without any concern for dropping her carefully and cautiously.

"Fucking Mew!" I swore angrily. I jabbed my finger towards her, "You puked all over my fucking shirt! This was brand-FUCKING-new!" She threw up again, fortunately only on the endless sea of asphalt around us. She looked up with tears in her eyes.

"I can't fucking help it," she cried, "I'm fuggin' drunk!" She now began to sob violently. "Why the fuck are you so mean all the time?"

"Oh, for Arceus' sakes!" I shouted. I turned my back to her and began to walk away; my night was ruined. At the very least, I would have to get a clean shirt and possibly a shower if I wanted to return to the club.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" she screamed at me as I left her alone at the back of the club. I stopped walking, still keeping my back towards her. "You can't just fucking leave me here!"

_She's right, _my conscience nagged at me.

_Fuck it._ I started to move again.

"Are you fucking joking me?" she roared furiously as she realized I was leaving her to rot in the alleyway. "I'll die out here! I'll catch a cold and I'll die…"

As if on cue, a thunderclap pierced the still night air, and raindrops soon followed. _She'll get hypothermia, you know, _my conscience once again tried to persuade me to help her out.

"Rain? Oh, how fucking romantic!" she cursed to the heavens.

_Oh alright,_ I caved, and I turned around and began to walk back towards the club. She shakily got up to her feet, and then began to frantically wave me away.

"What? Do you want me to help you out or not?" I shouted over the noise of the steadily-increasing storm.

"Do you love me?" she asked as I got nearer to her position. She swayed in the breeze, as if she were as light as a feather.

"WHAT?" I shouted in confusion.

"I'm not getting in your fucking car unless you admit you love me!" she said with a smile that was totally out of place in the current situation.

"No, now is not the time," I said, and I swung her into my arms as if I were rescuing her from a burning building. She punched my chest in protest as I walked towards the car; I was lucky she was pretty light.

"But why not?" she screamed even though my ears were only a couple feet from her head. "If not now, then when?" She had obviously prepared this whole sermon earlier, but was waiting for the best time to deliver it; the liquor in her system must have given her a boost of courage she had needed. "Never? Is that when you want to talk about it? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Avoid your feelings! Don't show any emotions! But you've cracked once or twice, and I've seen inside you!" She struggled in vain as she continued her rant. "I know you love me! So stop this fucking charade and get it off your fucking chest! You fucking love me!" She was now thrashing quite furiously. "Arceus dammit, let me go! I have mace in my purse!"

She motioned to search inside her purse (which, amazingly, despite the entire ordeal that had just occurred, still hung loosely around her left arm) but I quickly snatched the purse away from her; this only upset her more, and her attacks on me grew somewhat more violent, but at least she didn't press me further on the subject. I approached my car, and, unlocking it, I slid her into the passenger seat. I quickly buckled her in before she could even think about making a break for it. In her inebriated state, she was no match for the complexity of the seatbelt. Tossing her purse in the back, beyond her reach, I swung the door closed and walked around the car, opening my door, and settling into the pilot's seat. She punched me in the arm as I turned on the car. _I should have put her in the back_, I thought as I put the car into drive and pulled away from the club.

"You've already ruined my shirt," I said coolly, "So don't fucking puke all over my nice new car."

"Do you love me?" she questioned once more. _Not this shit again._

I stuttered, unable to say anything as she caught my by surprise again, and she tutted at me in response. "Whatever. Right about now, I fucking _despise_ you."

She groaned before letting up on her attacks, seeing it fit to simply cross her arms over her chest like an angry five year-old that didn't get what they wanted. I found it hard to suppress a smile; she was so cute when she was angry… _No, don't think like that. Not now, anyways._

* * *

My journey lasted all of three weeks. Armed with all my life savings and a couple spare t-shirts, I made it to Sandgem Town in just over a day, where I was pleasantly surprised to hear that Professor Rowan had just recently taken off on another long business trip. Unable to receive a starter pokémon, I was nonetheless undeterred and I quickly caught a male combee to get myself rolling. But by that point, I was already down to my last few dollars, as food costs were high and I didn't have much to begin with. One day, early on in my "expedition", I attempted some berries to satisfy my growing hunger, but I suppose that I picked the wrong ones, as they only led to a rather gruesome bowel experience. In a feeble effort to gain money, I tried to battle other trainers, but my only pokémon was pretty much useless and the losses only ate away at my diminishing funds. With a grumbling stomach, bloodshot eyes, and my tail tucked firmly between my legs, I sulked back to my tiny mobile home, my dishevelled appearance veiled by the darkness of the night. I weakly pushed the door open and nearly collapsed inside. I slowly slipped off my shoes and noted (with a large amount of surprise) that the television was off; I would've thought that my dad was out drinking until he got totally shit-faced, but I knew he was home, with the telltale cloud of cigarette smoke wafting from around the corner.

I tiptoed into my room as quietly as possible: if luck was on my side, he would not have even noticed that I was gone (it wouldn't be the first time, although that had been for only a couple of hours, not weeks). But as soon as I slid underneath my covers, attempting to get the sleep I so desperately needed (not surprisingly, a sleeping bag and a small boulder for a pillow, combined with the earth as my mattress, did not make for a very comfortable bed), my dad appeared in the doorway, flicking on the lights in my small "room" (it was nothing more than a glorified closet).

"Look what th'cat dragged in," he said with his usual drawl, a cross between a heavy smoker and a southern man. "Yuh look like shit," he noted as he looked over my body observantly, waving his cigarette back and forth.

"Ah, what a warm welcome," I said snidely, mustering up all the courage I had, "It ain't like a good parent would be concerned with their child's well-being or nothing…"

"I knew yuh wouldn't last more than a coupl'a weeks, Cal – I knew you'd come crawlin' back soon enough. You'd realize how good yuh have it here and you'd be practically sprinting back. Yuh never did buy me them smokes, huh?"

"I reckon I didn't," I sneered in response; I was almost blatantly asking for trouble by instigating my father.

"I don't tolerate my junior disobeying me," he said as he approached my bed slowly, "I think you should be punished. Give me yer hand." _What's he going to do, give me a slap on the wrist?_, I thought as I extended my right arm, palm facing the ground. He grabbed it rather firmly by the wrist, and even if I wanted to break free from his grasp, his hold would be too strong for me to break through. He took another puff of his cigarette, as if he was contemplating something, and then in one swift motion, before I had time to comprehend what he was doing, he brought about his punishment. He quickly flipped my hand so that my palm now pointed towards the ceiling, and with his free hand, he grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and brought the lit end straight into my palm, digging it in.

I yelped in pain, crying out cuss words with such ferocity and frequency that a sailor would blush if he was in the room, and the moment he let go of my arm, I retracted my arm and began to cradle my hand. Tears immediately began to well in my eyes as the pain coursed through me in waves emitting from my hand. My dad flicked the now-extinguished cigarette to the floor and he made his way out of my room and towards the door, which he pushed open with force.

"Now get the fuck outta my house, boy," he barked at me in a low, menacing tone. Even though most of my brain was dedicated to stressing over the growing pain in my palm, part of it still registered what my dad had ordered me to do. The expression on my face went from one of deep pain to one of utter shock.

"W-what?" I squeaked out.

"Don't play dumb, I know y'heard me. I'm not put up for this parenting shit and I'm sicka putting up with your shit. I have trouble getting enough grub for me, let alone for you."

"Y-your kicking me out?" I questioned, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, retard, how many times am I gunna has to repeat myself to get it through your thick skull?"

I grabbed my backpack strap with my left hand and slung it over my shoulder as I began to walk towards the door, where my dad still hovered nearby. I paused in the open doorway and turned around to face my dad for the last time (although I didn't know that at the time).

"Fuck you, old man," I stated coolly as I delivered a sharp kick into his shin. He yelped in pain, and though I wanted to celebrate causing pain to my cruel father, I didn't want to stick around for more punishment. Without hesitation, I booked it outside and scrambled away from my home, his extended hand just mere centimetres from grabbing me by the throat. With no other place to go, and not willing to try my luck again at a pokémon journey after my first attempt finished so poorly, I headed to the closest pokémon centre to check in for the night – I would decide what to do the following morning after a good night's sleep. I approached the front desk and handed her the ball that contained my combee, as sort of an admission ticket to get a room. Of course, in all the madness that had transpired, I had momentarily forgotten about my cigarette burn, and it was only natural that the Joy behind the counter would notice it.

"Dear, what is that mark on your palm?" she said in a caring voice as she took the ball out of the burnt hand.

"Oh… it's a cigarette burn…" I mumbled, not wanting to think about the incident at the trailer any more.

"Well, you're way too young to be smoking cigarettes… you can't even be a teenager yet! How does someone your age even buy cigarettes, anyways? And who starts smoking as a kid? I tell you, society has changed a lot since I was–"

"No," I interrupted, "I don't smoke."

"Well then, who did this to you?"

"My father…" I muttered.

"Ah!" the nurse exclaimed, raising her hand to cover her mouth in shock. "What a horrible _creature_ he is! We need to report this to the authorities!"

"Don't worry about it, I've already run away from home, I won't see him ever again."

"No!" Joy half-shouted as she reached for the telephone on her desk. "We can't let people get away with this, this, this _disgusting_ behaviour! Now tell me your name, hon'."

"Cal," I blurted out.

Joy began to dial the three digit number I feared most: 9-1-1. "Well, hon', I'm going to need a _little_ more than that."

I sighed and remained silent for a second, for at this point in my life, I was still embarrassed by my name. It all stemmed from an incident with a couple bullies in my trailer park who told me with their fists that my first name sounded like a girl's name. My dad had told me that my mother had chosen the name and that if he had had his way he would have named me Hank Jr.

"Calypso Harriet," I said in a huff, "But _just call me Cal_."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I have never had someone extinguish a cigarette on my hand, though I imagine it would hurt immensely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Foreword: **Stuff in italics at the end is Cal's story/perspective. Italics kind of bug me if they are used too much, but otherwise it is tough to distinguish two separate first-person perspectives right away.

* * *

"Are you sure that you're fine?" I asked from outside the door, knocking gently beforehand to gain her attention. I had just heard another groan emitting from the bathroom that I sat outside of, slumped against the wall. It was promptly followed by the sounds of vomiting once again.

"I'm fine…" she replied weakly.

"No, you're not!" I shouted more aggressively than what was probably necessary. "Unlock this door so I can give you some Heal Powder!"

"Fuck off, asswipe!" she screamed at me, flushing the toilet for the _n_th time tonight. "Don't even fucking come near me, you… you… you cunt!" I felt a faint thud against the wall; she must've thrown the toilet paper at the door. "Besides, Heal Powder takes like shit. I wouldn't take that garbage if I was sober!"

"My pokémon don't seem to mind it…" I muttered, mostly to myself. If only I could go inside and comfort her… though I had already tried countless times, I rattled the door handle madly, but, of course, the door remained closed. "Oh sweet Mew…"

"Ok…" she started as I heard her get up to her feet in the bathroom. "I'm feeling a little better… so I'm getting out of this crack house and going back to my hotel room." She started fumbling with the door knob, but she was unable to figure it out. "Why do they make these bastards so complicated?" She smashed her fists against the door, causing me to bolt up from my sitting position against the outer wall.

_You're going to hurt yourself, dear, _was my first thought.

"You're gonna fucking dent my door!" I stated bluntly, coolly.

"Still there, huh?" she asked, sarcasm practically dripping from her voice. She swung once more at the door.

_*smash_

"Like some sort of perverted prison guard?"

_*smash_

"Is that what I am?"

_*smash_

"Am I your fucking prisoner?"

_*smash_

The smashing was gradually decreasing in intensity.

"I don't think so!"

_*smash_

"I'm not _just_ your _physical_ prisoner!"

_*smash_

Her once powerful hits had been reduced to faint, pathetic blows.

"I'm a prisoner… ha ha, this is _so_ corny… I'm a prisoner of _love_!"

She stopped smashing altogether.

"What the hell did you slip in my drinks?" she said after she had collected herself inside.

"What? I didn't do anything to your drinks!" I cursed at her; she was getting pretty ridiculous.

"Oh really…" she mumbled; her words were becoming increasingly incoherent, "Well then why I am feeling so light-headed all of the sudden…"

_Light-headed? What? Oh, crap, she's going to…_

_*kadunk *kunk *kunk *kunk_

_ … Faint._

I decided there was no time like the present to unlock that aggravating bathroom door. I sprinted into the kitchen and slid over to the counter on the slippery tiles. I grabbed my faded, worn out gray messenger bag and dumped its contents out onto the counter. Sifting through the various junk I didn't even know I had in that bag, I eventually stumbled upon what I was looking for: a simple red and white pokéball with a 'W' inscribed on the top hemisphere. I lobbed it out in the open area of my living room.

"Weavile!" I shouted as it appeared in a fizzle of white light, the light slowly dissipating to reveal a startled weasel pokémon. Its initial surprise at being let out so late at night (when it was sleeping) disappeared when it saw the concerned look on my face. I pointed fiercely towards the door that led to the bathroom. "Use Metal Claw to open up that door!" The sharp claw pokémon gave me only a small nod of its head as it dashed to the door and attacked it savagely. Within moments, he had removed not only the door handle but the immediate area surrounding the door; I would have to get that fixed later. Nonetheless, I thanked him before recalling him back into his pokéball and examining what exactly had transpired inside the washroom.

It was not a pretty scene. Vomit had given the seat of the toilet a fresh new colour; it also stained some of the tiles in the surrounding area. The smell was absolutely repugnant: my eyes almost began to water as I fully entered the small room. Toilet paper was streamed along the floor like a white river. But, the worst sight of them all was herself. Her usual beauty and brightness was now replaced with repulsiveness and dullness. Her hair was no longer combed perfectly into place; her dress straps were sliding carelessly down her shoulders; and her eyes that would normally shine with all that is good in the world were replaced with soulless, empty blobs that seemed to have stared Giratina in the face themselves. Puke trailed down from the corners of her lips and had solidified on her chin. One of her two high heeled shoes was removed from her feet and the other had been partially undone and was now only remaining by one single strap around her ankle. She looked like a mess. Scooping her tenderly into my arms, once again I made my way out of the apartment.

* * *

_This has to be what torture feels like._

I blinked my eyes, holding them shut momentarily before reopening them; I was then treated to the fiercely bright lights of the hospital lobby. I glanced around the room for the millionth time that evening. Uncomfortable blue chairs, identical to the one my derriere was currently suffering in, lined the pale green walls that tried to give this building of hell a more healthy and vibrant look, but only served to reinforce its fatal association. Linoleum flooring, streaked with small black skid marks from who-knows-what, gave the room a cheesy 70's vibe. A small plant in the corner seemed to be withering away, its ability to live destroyed by the tense atmosphere of the building. Small paintings dotted the walls, with Italian towns and rolling landscapes chosen as serene settings, inviting the viewer to run away from all the imperfection of this building, to run and find a perfect place like that and live without a care in the world…

_But it isn't the room that's torturing you…_

I sighed; my conscience was right once again. Though the décor definitely left a lot to be desired, I would be lying if that's what I said was truly aggravating me at the moment. No, what was really agonizing me was the situation I was in. I shook my head and began to examine my surroundings once again. Deep down, though, no matter how much I denied it, it wasn't the kitschy theme of the hospital lobby that was driving me out of my mind.

My eyes fell again on the tacky blue chairs on the adjacent wall; out of seven seats, only two were occupied. _Makes sense,_ I thought as I glanced casually at the platinum watch that ticked away, blissfully unaware of its surroundings. When I had become league champion, I had realized that the whole pokédex concept was a bit tacky; besides, its only useful function (pokémon identification and move checking) had been rendered useless since I had finalized my team for the time being. _It _is_ 3:30 in the morning._

The first occupant was a small balding man, and he was leisurely leafing through an old magazine that the hospital employed to keep its patrons preoccupied and not stressed out. It must have had a funny article or two inside of it, as occasionally he would give a loud chuckle and his whole face would light up with laughter. He had a gold crown over one of his premolars, and he wore an odd olive green coloured suit. _He doesn't seem to be too concerned about being in the hospital; I wish I could be more like him… minus the bad fashion sense and the lack of hair._

The only other person in the room was a plain looking woman in her late thirties or early forties. She had been there since I had arrived, and had cried off and on for the past two hours. I sincerely hoped that whatever was troubling her, presumably a friend or relative with some sort of health problem, that it would be remedied quickly.

I jolted out of my chair.

_What are you doing?_

I began to walk towards the front desk.

_No, not again…_

I coughed to get the attention of the receptionist.

_They'll call you when they want to talk to you._

She smiled a fake smile at me.

_Stop bugging this poor lady._

I asked if they had any news about my… friend's condition.

_This lady doesn't know anything._

The receptionist shrugged and reassured me that they would indeed call me if they had an update on her status. I shuffled defeated, dejectedly back to my chair – the receptionist did nothing to save me from my own hell.

* * *

"Mr. Shinji?" a voice came from the darkness. I groaned as my eyes slowly opened.

_Where am I? _I thought, confused.

Blinding light nearly ruptured my corneas; _oh, right, the hospital. _I checked my watch, and it read 8:42 am; I must have dozed off at some point during the night. I gradually got up from my sleeping position on the row of chairs and finally focused on the owner of the voice who had awakened me; it was a nurse.

"Glad to see you're awake," she said genuinely. "She's ready to see you now."

I practically jumped off of the chair, and I began to walk with the nurse as she led me down various corridors. She talked as we went, and I nodded my head every so often.

"For your information, she's suffered from mild alcohol poisoning. It could have gotten a lot worse had you not brought her in when you did. It so touching, the lengths you went to to help this girl. You had vomit all over your shirt… you were carrying her unconscious body with this look of fear and lost love in your eyes… you wouldn't leave, not even to go home and shower, until you knew that she was okay…" She sighed. "I wish _my boyfriend_ cared about me that much."

_Boyfriend?_

"We're… it's not like that," I replied coldly. The nurse stopped her rambling, presumably unnerved by my harsh response, and didn't say anything else until we arrived at our destination.

"Well…" she began, "This is her room. Please try not to be too loud or get her worked up." With that, she left, walking off down the corridor in the opposite direction from the way we walked in. I lightly knocked on the door, which had a sign that said room number 471, before letting myself into the unlocked room.

I gasped at the once beautiful girl lying in the bed before me. She was but a shell of her former self, with a sickly colour dominating her normally beautiful skin, and an IV tube coming out of her forearm. _If this is _mild _alcohol poisoning, then I can't imagine _severe_ alcohol poisoning… _I sprinted over to her bed, barely resisting the urge to scoop her up into my arms again, to never let her be alone again – I settled for taking her small hand in mine. She remained asleep.

"Dawn…"

A tear came to my eye. I slowly kissed her soft, delicate left hand. I immediately thought that I should restrain myself from such a blatant display of affection, but she was still asleep. Besides, right then, I simply didn't care if she found out my true feelings for her…

I heard a small grunt and my head whipped up: she was waking up. Her eyes fluttered open and they scanned the room nervously before settling on me. A confused look appeared on her face as she tried to recognize the person kneeling at the side of her bed.

"P… P… Paul?" she stuttered, having trouble finding her voice. "Is that you?" She squinted her eyes. I nodded before standing up tall, and once again she began to look worriedly around the room. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," I said as calmly and softly as I could manage. "Don't you remember last night?" After thinking for a second, she shook her head, no. "You had a pretty crazy night out at a club. You puked all over my shirt and bathroom and then I had to take you here… you had alcohol poisoning."

She shuddered as (I assume) awful memories of the previous night came flooding back into her head. I stared at her in silence as she began to recall most of the main events of last night. She looked at me with those big blue eyes and my knees almost started knocking together. _No! _I screamed at myself. _Don't let her charm you over! You've _got _to be angry at her after all she made you go through last night! _

"Oh my Arceus," she said, "I'm _so, so _sorry. Oh Mew. I can only remember a couple things, but I think I caused you a lot of trouble, didn't I? Oh my fucking Arceus, what the hell happened last night?"

I looked at her sternly for a split-second before my expression reverted back to its deeply concerned look.

_No, _I replied to the voice inside my head, _I can't get mad at her now._

I explained pretty much everything that had happened that night, from her stomping out on me at my place to seeing her at the club, from her puking all over my shirt to puking all over my bathroom floor, from driving her to the hospital to waiting up all night to see if she was going to be alright.

"Oh Mew," she stated quietly as I wrapped up my story, "Again, I am _so _sorry. Come close…" I obliged. She put her arms around me in a tight embrace, putting her head on my shoulder.

"Thank you…" she whispered.

My cheeks flared up. My brain went into overdrive, half of it wanting to end the hug before it got awkward, the other half wanting it to last until the end of time. They reached a compromise and decided to let it last until she let go. After what seemed like a perfect eternity, she finally lightened up her grip on my back and slowly leaned back into her pillows. _I hope she doesn't notice that I'm blushing…_

"You should probably get some more rest," I blurted out to get rid of the awkward silence that had settled over the two of us like a dense fog. "How about I get changed, cleaned up, run some errands, and then I'll pick you up in a couple of hours?" She nodded her head in approval before falling back asleep again.

"Sweet dreams, Dawn…"

* * *

_I spent the night at the pokémon centre, thankful to get any sleep in an actual bed. It was a restless, fitful sleep, though – I woke up on several occasions during the night covered in sweat and with a nightmare on the forefront of my mind, ready to smother me the next time I drifted off. Soon enough, the sun's first beams of lights were piercing my room's window, and in no more than a half-hour after dawn had broke, their was a police officer in my room, herding me out of the pokémon centre and towards a police cruiser. He turned to face me – his nametag read Vernon. Vernon was a large, brute of a man, his shadow enveloping me as he walked towards the rising sun and the car. Loving, warm brown eyes, a genuine smile, and boyish curly mahogany hair betrayed the menacing look given by his rather angular features, his large, highly-toned physique and the various weapons holstered on his belt. Vernon squatted down to my level, his knees bending forward as he swayed ever so slightly on the balls of his feet._

"_Y'ever been in a police car before?" he said with a big, goofy grin that somehow managed to grow even bigger and goofier when my eyes lit up and I smiled my first true smile in weeks, if not months or even years. Pleased with my positive reaction, he removed his cop's hat and placed it on my head, the beak falling somewhere between my nose and my mouth due to its size relative to my petite head. "Then how about you get in shotgun and point me the way back to your place so we can swing by and grab your stuff?"_

_I dropped my head and looked at the ground, kicking up the dust with my shoes as I fiddled with my backpack's straps. I didn't ever want to go back near that place again; just thinking about it made me feel weird inside._

"_All my stuff is in my knapsack… I don't got nothing to get there," I lied, though it wasn't that much of a stretch._

"_Are you sure?" Vernon questioned – he saw right through me. I nodded weakly, and I guess he realized how awkward it was for me, so he dropped that scenario entirely. "Well then, saddle up, pardner, and I'll take you down to the station!"_

_Going to the station, as it turned out, meant being questioned. It wasn't a very pleasant experience, but Vernon and the other guys at the station made it enjoyable, treating me as a mascot of sorts. They brought me out to the shooting range and I watched in awe as they hit moving targets from a long distance away, and they laughed when they let me try it out and I fell back from the recoil. They let me point the speeding gun and as a joke let me ask for the driver's licence and registration if we caught them speeding. They put on their siren and drove through red lights for no reason other than to see me smile._

_This cycle continued for a couple of days: Vern would pick me up at the pokémon centre, we'd go to the station, some government attorney would question me for a bit, and then I'd hang out at the station until around eight, when I'd head back to the pokémon centre. Eventually, the government person had gathered enough to get a good written statement from me, and I suppose they brought my father into court. I never appeared in court, and I didn't know really what happened in there. Eventually, my father was convicted of assault with a weapon and possession of unregistered firearms, which I guess they found when they arrested him._

_They put him in jail._

_They put me in school._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note:** OMG TRIVIA: The number 471 was selected because Dawn and Paul meet in that episode number!111!1! rnt i cleever? :PPPPPP newaiz plz plz PLZ PLZ! revue!11!1 thnx ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the significant delay! I can't really blame my personal life for it, or a hardware problem, or anything; it just boils down to that recurring procrastination problem of mine! I'll try to get the next chapter up more promptly next time.**

_*Frap frap frap_

"Dawn?" my voice came out weak and pathetic; I cleared my throat before continuing, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, one second," she replied after a moment, and I soon heard light footsteps on the floor. I studied the chart on the door to her room in the meantime, poring over her diagnostics and statistics until she finally gave me the all-clear to enter.

Taking a deep breathe, I entered her room to find her lying in her bed, underneath a pale green comforter, propped up against the wall by a number of white pillows. She must have noticed the confused look on my face, as the smile on her face quickly morphed into an expression of worry.

"What's wrong?" she questioned me.

"If you are lying down in bed, then…" I stopped, trying to think of a logical conclusion, but I simply couldn't, "then who else was in here with you?"

"N-No one was in here!" she blurted out quickly, and a rose tint emerged on her cheeks. "I… I wanted to make sure all my hair was in place and that I looked good before you came in." She dropped her head down, as if she was ashamed at what she had done.

"Oh," was all I could muster for a reply.

_C'mon, man, no smart-ass insult or reply? What the hell's going on with you?_

"Well," I began after a brief silence between us, "The doctor says there is nothing else he can do for you here. The only treatment is rest and relaxation. So I guess I can take you back to your hotel and you can sleep in a nice, comfortable bed, unlike the cot you have here."

She nodded her head in agreement with the proposition, but her stomach did not: it let out a fierce rumble, and the rose tint was replaced by a brilliant shade of red. She let out an embarrassed chuckle. "That sounds lovely, but…" she paused, "Well… I don't want to be a bother, but, um, would you mind picking me up something to eat?"

"That's no problem at all," I said, which seemed to subdue the rising colour in her cheeks. She slid out of bed and looked over at the dress that she had been wearing when she was admitted to the hospital. _What is she trying to get at? _I noticed that she was wearing the little gown that they made all patients wear. _Oh! She needs to change. _"I'll wait outside," which prompted one of those heart-warming smiles to appear on her face. I excused myself from the room and leaned up against the wall outside of her room.

I laughed lightly to myself: she would end up getting that dinner with me that she wanted last night.

"The soup was delicious," said Dawn as she let her spoon drop in her now-empty bowl. I walked by, picking it up and placing it in my similarly empty bowl and placed them in the sink.

"Um… thanks," I replied humbly, "All I had to do was put the container into the microwave, though…"

"Well, regardless, I really enjoyed it."

A pause.

"Y'know, it's already 8:30. You should probably get to bed early, rest up."

She groaned almost silently, but I managed to catch her reaction: she must've enjoyed sharing a meal with me more than I anticipated she would. "I guess you're probably right…"

"I need to get some rest, too," I said, trying to lift her spirits somewhat, "With all that happened last night, I forgot that I have a title defence battle tomorrow."

That news must have triggered something in Dawn's head, as she looked as if she suddenly remembered something she had forgotten.

"I can't believe I forgot!" she nearly shouted, "I'm meeting someone here tomorrow!"

"Oh…" I said, disappointed. "So you won't be able to come see my battle? I could get you a box seat…?"

"Ooh, that'd be…" she stopped herself, beginning to contemplate something, "No… I'm afraid I'm going to have to refuse. I don't think the person who am I meeting would appreciate me staying in _your _box."

_Oh. _It felt like all the air inside me had been released, and my shoulders slumped, defeated. _Now I know why she reacted so sourly when I ditched her to go out to the club last night – it stung to be rejected. But… what's wrong with being in my box seat?_

"Why wouldn't they appreciate seeing you in my box?" I questioned her, curious as to what her answer would be.

"They…" she paused; she seemed to be avoiding something, "The person I'm meeting already has tickets for the match, that's all."

"Oh," I said. It made sense that if she were meeting someone here, that she would already have tickets to see the match: title battles didn't come around very often, so they were a pretty big deal. People from all over the world flocked to Sunyshore City when the battles were officially announced. They were often announced up to two months in advance so that people could make arrangements to visit the city. It was always broadcasted on the international sports station, Pokémon Sports Network, so those who could not manage to make it to the event could watch throughout the world. _But who exactly _is _this person?_

"Who is th-?"

"Well, I guess I better hit the hay," Dawn said as she rose from her chair, stretching her arms vertically and failing to stifle a yawn. "I guess you should probably head back to your place and get ready for your big battle tomorrow."

Before I had a chance to press her further on the subject of her visitor, she approached me and wrapped me in a tight embrace, more intimate than the one we had at the hospital room. She put her head close to mine, whispering "Thanks again" before planting a small kiss on my cheek. This caused heat to spread through my body like a wildfire, and I assumed my normally pale complexion instantly changed into a deep red. She moved her head away, and looking quite pleased with herself when she noticed my obvious blush, she began to walk towards what was presumably the bedroom. She raised her hand as she walked, giving me a small wave.

"G'night, _Paul_…" she said with that same sultry voice she had used earlier, and it caused me to become quite dumbfounded. _A long embrace… a peck on the cheek… that sexy tone… was she really falling for me?_

"G-good night, Dawn…" I stuttered, still in shock from the preceding events. I stood there like an idiot as she closed the door behind her, and after a moment of just longingly staring at the door, I shook my head and walked towards the door, picking up my messenger bag and slinging it over my shoulders as I passed through the small kitchen. My hand reached out to grab the door handle but I hesitated. After what had transpired last night and today, something deep inside of me told me that I _really _didn't want to ever leave her side again. I checked inside my messenger bag: it _did _have all of the stuff I would need for tomorrow. My head swung around as I remembered seeing a sofa earlier, and slowly I began to stride towards the couch. A battle raged on in my mind: _Should I stay or should I go?_

With a final rinse of my hair, I turned the tap off and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a fresh towel from the rack and beginning to dry myself off. I studied my reflection in the foggy mirror for a second before I towel-dried my hair. I tossed it over the shower door before I slipped into a pair of boxers and sweats. I teased my hair a bit until it looked somewhat orderly before slipping out of the bathroom. I made myself some coffee and walked out onto the balcony to watch as the sun continued its ascent into the sky. I enjoyed the warmth of the sun as its first rays beamed down upon me, and I also revelled in the fragrance of the black coffee wafting up from the mug in my hands.

"You're up early," a voice sounded from behind me.

"You as well, Dawn," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee.

I now wished that I had put on a shirt or something before I came out of the bathroom, but I hadn't expected Dawn to wake up for a while. Last night, after contemplating where I should go for a short while, I decided I would get a change of clothes and something to wear to bed, and then I returned to sleep on the couch in her place. I was relieved to find out that she was only wearing a nightgown, and in her hands was the cup of coffee I had made for her.

"Well…" Dawn started, holding on to the 'l' for a moment, "You've certainly bulked up a lot since I've seen you last. No wonder all those girls just throw themselves at you…"

I coughed; my face flushed for the thousandth time in the past three days. I felt that if I blushed one more time that my face would permanently stay red.

"You've changed a lot as well," I replied, my voice shakier than I would've liked.

"I thought you said you were going back to your place."

"I did."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"I… I…" I stuttered; truth be told, I didn't know the answer to that question myself. Some force not unlike gravity had prevented me from staying from her side for very long. It took a great amount of effort to pull myself away from her hotel room to go back to my place. "I wanted to make sure that you were doing okay," I lied, and I turned to give her my most convincing sheepish look. She didn't buy it for a moment.

"_Right…_" she said.

_There's that tone of voice again! What is she implying?_

"I suppose I should get ready for my big match," I said suddenly as I consumed the last remnants of coffee from my mug. "Maybe I'll see you after the match," I began to walk back into the hotel, and she followed me back indoors. "Perhaps we could go out to dinner… you, your guest, and I. How does that sound?" I slipped on the shirt I had left in the bathroom.

"Um…" Dawn started, "It would be really _interesting _if you two went to dinner together…"

"What does that mean?" I questioned as I slid on my shoes and tossed my bag over my shoulder.

"Oh… nothing, no need to worry," she claimed, but I knew otherwise. Her cheery face and smile persuaded me not to press the issue any further, though. "I'll see if he's interested in your proposition. G-. Um… have fun in your battle today!"

_That's weird. It was as if she was about to wish me good luck but then decided against it. Why is she acting so strange?_

But I instantly forgot all such trivial concerns as she wrapped her arms around me in another embrace.

"Friends again?" she asked.

_At least._

"Of course," I said as calmly as possible, under the circumstances anyways.

_No one likes school._

_No sane person does, anyways._

_Some sane people will tell you that they like school, but what they truly mean is they enjoy the more pleasant aspects of school: spending time with their friends, spending time away from their parents, and perhaps they even enjoy a certain, usually easy course. I have yet to come across a normal person who enjoyed doing homework, listening to teachers drone on about irrelevant and generally useless information, or eating the mysterious and quite disgusting cafeteria food._

_School becomes even less enjoyable when you aren't exactly at the top off the food chain: you aren't a predator, but you aren't exactly a blade of grass either. I wasn't particularly smart, attractive, or athletic; I didn't have an outrageous sense of fashion nor did I blast odd music wherever I went; and, didn't have an ounce of charisma or character. I was the guy that would be invited to every party but no one would notice if I didn't go; I was the guy who sat in the middle row of the classroom, off to one side, who you'd always forget the name of on the first day until the teacher called attendance; I was the guy who you would whisper to your nearby peers, "Who is that?" as they announced my name at the graduation ceremony, and then you'd have kind of an awkward moment where you remembered who I was and you felt embarrassed that you couldn't recognize my name; I was the guy who would cause you to scratch your head in confusion as you leafed through your old school yearbook when you are cleaning out your attic, your face quickly contorting with determination as you struggle mightily to recall anything you might have once known about me, but ultimately shrugging, giving up, and then gazing longingly at a nearby photo of your old high-school flame, beginning to wonder what he or she is up to now, letting my name once again fade away into nothing, my face once again blending into the scenery._

_My school was fully composed by people such as myself: failures. At least, failures at becoming a trainer. People who were in school at my age had either tried and failed at a pokémon-related career, or perhaps were more interested in a more intellectual career from the get-go. It was a boarding school, composed of boys and girls from the surrounding area, some coming in from around 100 miles away. Though it was a boarding school, it was certainly not fancy or wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Alamos Academy, it was called. We had a good rugby team, or maybe it was our football team. I spent my formative years there, from grade 5 all the way through to grade 12._

_I got decent marks, never good enough to make the honour's list, but never flirting with failure, either. I didn't have many friends, but I did make a few close friends that to the day I still go out and have a round of beers with every month or two._

_I guess school wasn't all that bad: it did give me something in my life, and it opened up a path for me that I would have never been able to access if I had lived out my life in my trailer park. The marks I had gotten were decent enough to get accepted into a small community college in the area, where I enrolled in journalism, despite having never really taken any courses like it in my latter years of school and having been five years behind, in terms of reading and writing, when I went to school at the age of 10. But something about writing, especially writing about what was going on now, had some sort of appeal to me. Perhaps it was my rough upbringing that gave me the desire to write about all the injustice and the unfairness in the world._

_Somehow, I walked out of Oreburgh College for the Arts with a degree, but my stall tactics had finally worn out; I would have to face the real world, the outside world, 24/7, for the first time in over a decade. I would have to get my first real job, besides the typical teenage terms as fry cooks and cashiers._

_My naïve, real world experience-deficient self expected to just wave my degree at the nearest intellectual magazine's office and I would be handed a job. Of course, I was turned down at every single place I applied to, which turned my selection process into "take whatever is given to you, regardless of how insignificant or meaningless it is to you"._

_Which made it all the more disappointing (and somewhat ironic, I suppose) when I only found placement at a sports magazine as a new reporter on the Pokémon battling circuit._

**Author's Note: **Cal's story section in this story is terribly done, but I kind of need to advance his plot, and I have been putting off writing his part for so long (I had Paul's already written a long time ago), so I'm kind of just rushing it on. But I can't let another week go by, I'm already so late! Sorry again! Please feel free to leave any comments, critiques and concerns as a review!


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